


rain

by sunflower_8



Series: saihara-hinata drabbles [4]
Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing, Super Dangan Ronpa 2
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Arguments, Depression, Self-Hatred, Suicidal Ideation, Suicidal Imagery, Suicidal Thoughts, vent - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2020-05-02
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:22:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23975185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunflower_8/pseuds/sunflower_8
Summary: hinata doesn’t bat an eye, and that makes him feel a bit sick, that the sentiment is so repetitive that he no longer has to fret over it, but saihara can’t exactly inform him of that. hinata hates the secrecy saihara treasures and saihara hates the sensitivity he himself holds, because both of them want to be invincible in the eyes of the world and what they suffered. they want to be strong.neither of them are.(or, hinata and saihara argue over the feelings that would lead to their deaths)
Relationships: Hinata Hajime & Saihara Shuichi, Hinata Hajime/Komaeda Nagito, Oma Kokichi/Saihara Shuichi
Series: saihara-hinata drabbles [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1759612
Comments: 3
Kudos: 66





	rain

**Author's Note:**

> mind the tags.

saihara hates the taste of beer. it’s bitter and tastes more like piss than anything to enjoy. he can’t imagine unwinding to the familiar sensation of a can in his hands, watching tv mindlessly as foreign faces inform him of the news he missed in his self-enforced isolation. but that’s an unfair judgement from him, really, because he can’t imagine unwinding at all, an issue not grounded in the taste of alcohol. the feeling of tense shoulders and aching eyes is more recognizable, more distinct, than intoxication.

this is one of the vital differences between him and hinata, one he clings to, because the less similar they act, the less painful it will be to witness the other dissolve. at least, that’s what he swears to himself, but he’s sure hinata thinks differently, the apathy in his blood that is apparent in his eyes leaving him with the want to destroy everything but not the need to feel  _ anything _ .

he thinks it’s rude to pity hinata, but it’s not like sympathy would be better received.

instead, as hinata lies on a mattress, sheets on the messy floor of his bedroom, saihara sits down on a desk chair and states, “i don’t think anybody would miss me if i died.”

hinata doesn’t bat an eye, and that makes him feel a bit  _ sick _ , that the sentiment is so repetitive that he no longer has to fret over it, but saihara can’t exactly inform him of that. hinata  _ hates  _ the secrecy saihara treasures and saihara hates the sensitivity he himself holds, because both of them want to be invincible in the eyes of the world and what they suffered. they want to be  _ strong. _

neither of them are. 

after a long moment, hinata finally responds, his voice lacking the weight of emotion, “that’s a lie. you have a boyfriend. he’d care.”

saihara shrugs, having anticipated that response. “he’s used to death. i don’t think it’d shock him.”

“yeah, well it’d still fucking hurt.” it’s in these moments that saihara thinks hinata resents him, but he doesn’t really mind. with most people, the concept of being  _ hated  _ is something that keeps him awake at night, makes him skip meals and avoid social interaction. the crippling sense of agoraphobia overcomes him at the mere insinuation that someone could loathe him. with hinata, he thinks he understands a bit better,

because, after all, hinata hates everything.

his silence is taken as disagreement, so hinata presses without prompt. “shit like death doesn’t get better. it’s not a matter of if it’d _shock_ your boyfriend, because nobody would be surprised. but it’d hurt like a bitch, because that’s how these things are.” he finishes, and, even without the lilt in his voice, saihara almost thinks he’s passionate.

almost.

“would you care if i died?” saihara inquires selfishly, breaking eye contact from the other immediately because he  _ knows  _ the reaction he’ll receive, a venomous response that’s almost cathartic, really. hearing the scorch of hinata’s voice, misplaced rage and aggression, it makes him feel-

he hears a beer bottle hit the floor. “don’t ask me that goddamn question, saihara.”

“i’m sorry,” he says with a tight-lipped smile. 

he isn’t.

“do you know how many times i have to hear that fucking question every day? how many fucking times it’s implied, lingering in the air like some goddamn rain? i’m fucking tired of people asking that, asking me that shit as if i can give them the answer they want or deserve.” hinata takes a deep breath, a bridge away from gasping. “saihara, if you died, i would feel  _ nothing _ . i can’t feel shit anymore, all i feel is fucking  _ nothing _ .”

“you feel things about your boyfriend,” he argues.

a beat of hesitation. “nagito is different.”

“he’s a testament to the fact that you still  _ feel,  _ hinata.”

hinata barks out a laugh, bitter. “i fucking  _ don’t _ , actually. he’s different because our relationship is so fucked that i can’t help but feel anxious. like if he’d die, i’d still feel nothing-”

“you told me that if he died, you would kill yourself.”

“ _ exactly _ .”

“so you feel something?”

“people don’t  _ kill themselves  _ because they feel shit. they kill themselves because they can’t feel anything anymore, their entire life and emotions and brain are fucking void of everything except this settling acknowledgement of ‘yeah, i really  _ should  _ be dead.’ you shoot yourself in the head, doesn’t fucking hurt. because you don’t feel anything, you just feel nothing and nobody feels nothing and still lives. unless your my fucking brother, but he’s different- and  _ my point is,  _ if you killed yourself, i wouldn’t feel anything and if  _ i  _ killed myself, i wouldn’t feel anything either.”

saihara’s blood runs colder, his body frigid and his expression dark. quietly, he mutters, “speak for yourself, hinata.”

“what, you disagree?” hinata says almost incredulously. “fine. whatever helps you sleep at night.”

“if i kill myself,” saihara starts, finding that the words flow out a bit easier as he slips into the mentality of his idealized perception of eternal nothingness, “it would be because i feel too much. because my entire body hurts, because i can’t catch my breath, because i have a thousand responsibilities and no energy to do them. if i kill myself, it’s because i wish i was numb, wish i was strong enough to be numb, but instead i’m weak and brittle and broken. if i kill myself, it’s with the knowledge that nobody would give a fuck because i’m  _ annoying  _ and  _ useless  _ and  _ pathetic.  _ if i kill myself, i would feel the gunshot, because my entire body is coded to register every touch as an attack because  _ everything hurts.” _

when he finishes his ramble, he has tears in his eyes. when he finishes his ramble, hinata looks unimpressed. it’s exactly what he expected, but he yearns for easier communication.

they’ll never get that.

“you don’t want to be numb,” hinata says in a voice a shade too casual to be warning. “it’s hell, saihara. this shit is hell.”

he feels hollow, the echoes of a deathcry in his throat, leaving spectral lacerations on his neck. “it’d be nice to stop worrying about your boyfriend getting himself arrested.”

hinata smiles, but it lacks the warmth or kindness either of them deserve. “you don’t stop worrying, saihara. you just stop having the energy to care.”

“that doesn’t make  _ sense!”  _ his voice cracks, but hinata overlooks it in favor of opening a new bottle of beer. “i  _ want  _ to stop caring, i  _ want  _ to feel empty, because isn’t that what stops worrying? you can’t worry over something you don’t care about!”

“mm.” he hums.

“ _ hinata. _ ”

“i do it all the time.”

“ _ then what’s the fucking answer?!”  _ saihara yells, tugging at the hem of his shirt with untrimmed nails and trembling fingers. “how do i feel better? how do i stop being annoying? my friends say i’m not a nuisance and my therapist says i’m a sweetheart and  _ everyone thinks i’m great  _ but i’m horrible, the most obnoxious, and  _ how do i fix it! _ ”

hinata laughs. “i thought nagito was the most obnoxious.”

“what?”

“nothing,” hinata’s voice is cold again, hostile. “maybe just don’t call yourself the worst when you literally aren’t.”

“i am!”

“what if i call myself the worst?”

“you’d be lying!”   
  


“you aren’t  _ special,  _ saihara! you aren’t the only goddamn person in the world who is worth nothing, because the world doesn’t do exceptions like that, so stop acting like you fucking are!”

saihara reaches up to tug at my hair. “i’ve  _ read  _ the text messages! ‘i love you’ and ‘i’ll always be here’, but none of them  _ mean  _ it, because all i do is fucking annoy them-”

“have you ever fucking considered that maybe you’re an alright person?”

“why are you  _ arguing  _ with me?” the tension in the air turns to dust, stacking high enough to suffocate, to smooth his palms and glaze his eyes over like a corpse. hinata looks at the can in his hand, his knuckles turning white, and saihara takes the opportunity to say, “aren’t you  _ too tired  _ to care? why do you want me to stop spiralling? isn’t it easier to just affirm my thoughts and let me go fucking kill myself? isn’t that what i deserve?”

silence. something saihara usually treasures, but now finds poisonous, like there’s a gas intertwined with oxygen plotting to kill him quicker than he can have the pleasure to kill himself. he hates the air, wants to tear it away, leave hinata and him to die in this fucking room like they deserve. but what would his boyfriend do? what would  _ either  _ of their boyfriends do? 

he makes a mental correction. the air isn’t going to kill him. it’s the realization that both of their boyfriends deserve infinitely more than this.

“it’s because,” saihara stills at the sound of hinata’s voice, exhausted and worn. “it’s because i’m too tired to care but too worried to let you die.”

he doesn’t know what to say. he settles on a quiet, “oh.”

hinata laughs, and saihara is surprised to see the tears in the light green eyes. hinata doesn’t even try to cover it, because he’s too far gone to cover the laughs of increasing intensity but the same quiet volume, as if he’s discovered something too damning, too true, to speak of. saihara thinks his hunch is correct, and this is confirmed by hinata speaking in the weakest, more broken voice saihara has ever heard from him, “i think if i killed myself right now, i would feel everything.”

and there’s nothing left to discuss.

**Author's Note:**

> yeah. sorry.


End file.
